I wouldn’t wish being a writer on anyone.
It is life and skill that is equal parts exhilarating and awful, compounded by shattering self-doubt, pressure, and violent discipline. Longing and jealousy color my darkest thoughts as well, but too, there is also vibrant joy in capturing a moment or sharing a story.
This particular archive of essays and blogs spans many years. The recent lack of updates is not due to laziness – should anyone out there actually be paying attention. Most of my writing efforts of late have been in developing my second book, another mostly true tome called Home Is Where We Are Not. It’s all about living a life of wanderlust and the adventures my husband and I experience while traveling the world.
The book is coming together, slowly, fueled by many gallons of bourbon and long stretches of highway. It is a maddening balance to strike, writing a book and managing to come up with regular content for a website to remind the world that you exist. Judging by the lack of comments and influx of watch replica ads I receive here, I have failed miserably on that balance.
Still. If I am at all going to be known as the writer I am, it’s about time I give y’all reason to care. My hard rule has been to never post content that is anything short of perfect, or that is lacking a thought-out story. But perhaps some imperfection would be welcome. Maybe, in sharing the raw ideas and thoughts that aren’t as pristine as I prefer, I can start a different kind of story.
More writing to come.
And, in a random aside: My head shots were ridiculously out of date. I have a few professional events and such where people for whatever reason care what their writer looks like, so rather than showing up like a blind date, I updated my portfolio. 40 pounds of makeup later, I have to admit, I rather like the end result: